New fic: Useful Soup for Benevolent Purposes
Title: Useful Soup for Benevolent Purposes
Universe: Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries
Pairing: Phryne Fisher / Jack Robinson, Dot Williams / Hugh Collins
For: chaila and pellucid, because this is their fault in some way or another.
Beta: I wrote this in an hour and a half for my two best betas. So all errors and poor turns of phrase are unequivocally my own.
Summary: Soup is useful for all sorts of benevolent purposes, including bribing in-laws, teaching feminism to young women in need, and courting policemen. Pretty much in that order.
Of note: http://www.recipes4us.co.uk/Beeton/Mrs%20Beeton%20Useful%20Soup%20for%20Benevolent%20Purposes.htm
**
Phryne comes home after tea with her aunt to find Dot in the kitchen. This is unusual in that Mr. Butler usually takes responsibility for the cooking, but also in that Dot is fiercely guarding her pot. “No, I do not want any help,” she says, brushing off an offering Mr. Butler. He backs off with a gentle shrug and a look to his mistress that suggests this has been going on for some time.
“Dot? What on Earth?” Phryne asks, trying to weave her way toward the range. It is not a place she finds herself often, but she can see that Dot has made more of a mess than Mr. Butler might have.
Dot shrugs. “It’s one of my mother’s recipes that could feed all of us,” she says. “And I thought, with everything, I might take it over to Mrs. Collins-Hugh’s mum-to see if-.” Dot trails off, waving her wooden spoon idly and trailing beef and broth around the kitchen.
“It’s a peace offering,” Mr. Butler says gently.
Dot and Hugh’s wedding had not been well received by the Collinses, Phryne understood, even if she hadn’t been home to witness most of the immediate fallout.
“I took her the curtains I made,” Dot says mournfully. “But it’s no use.”
Phryne peers down at her assistant and friend. “Well,” she says after a moment. “You can do one of two things.”
“What’s that, Miss?” Dot asks.
“First, you can keep on trying to get into that woman’s good graces. Curtains, soup-.”
“-grandchildren,” Mr. Butler chimes in and Phryne makes a face, even as Dot looks thoughtful.
“Or,” Phryne continues, putting aside the terrifying thought of Hugh and Dot’s probably not-too-future children. “Or, you can go about your life without needing her approval and live it just how you please.”
Dot furrows her brow. “But Miss,” she says. “It would mean so much to Hugh.”
Phryne rolls her eyes. “Hugh is the one who converted for you. Hugh is as much to blame in all of this as you are, if not more, and he can go groveling to his mother on his own time.”
Dot stirs thoughtfully.
**
Dinner is served. Mr. Butler approaches Phryne and Jack with steaming bowls of soup.
“I take it the entrée to the elder Mrs. Collins was unsuccessful?” Phryne asks, trying to hold in her mirth. She had related the story to Jack over drinks and they are tipsy and amused, though she hopes, not at Dot’s expense.
“She didn’t go,” Mr. Butler says. “She almost threw it in the rubbish. Says she would be her own woman from now on.”
“That would be a waste of perfectly good soup,” Jack intones, looking over the hot food in front of him.
“Quite,” Mr. Butler says. “You know, Dot says her mother called this Useful Soup for Benevolent Purposes.”
Phryne can’t help herself and laughs out loud.
“Apparently,” Mr. Butler continues as if not interrupted, “that was the name of the recipe.” He departs through the doors to the kitchen.
Jack tucks in heartily to the soup while Phryne muses. “Useful soup?” she says. “Benevolent purposes? I wonder what those might be.”
Phryne watches the corners of Jack’s mouth quirk up in a half smile. Since her return the previous week after three months away, Phryne has found herself enamored of his every expression, watching to see if he is smiling or thoughtful or looking at her with poorly-disguised want. She lets herself acknowledge that she has missed him, and that smile, and those looks.
And now he is here, in her house, at her table, eating Dot’s soup.
Phryne spoons her soup, finding ox, beef, and vegetables; heartier fare than appropriate in early fall and more than she wants.
Jack seems to have no such compunction and he eats heartily. “Did no one feed you while I was gone?” she asks lightly.
He wipes his mouth with his napkin, a little embarrassed. “Sandwiches at my desk, mostly,” Jack says. “No one to-.” He waves a hand over the table, encompassing the linen and the candlelight and herself.
The soup, Phryne thinks, is out of place in the finery of her dining room, or would be if anyone else was eating it.
“Well,” she says. “It is benevolent soup, then.”
“An act of kindness or charity?” Jack counters, setting his spoon down and meeting her gaze.
She looks at him, and if all the fondness she feels is reflected in her gaze, then there it is. “An act of kindness does not have to be charity,” Phryne says, leaning forward a bit. “In fact, one can even exhibit kindness out of selfish motives.”
“Is that so?” Jack says.
“It is,” Phryne says, sipping at her wine. “This is a perfect example. You get a hearty dinner, for which we can thank Dot’s burgeoning sense of self, and I get you here enjoying it.”
“No one to enjoy dinner with in London?” Jack’s question is obvious, Phryne thinks, but not unfair.
“Well,” she says, taking a bite of the soup, which is good, if somewhat reminiscent of her better childhood dinners. “You’ve met my father. And my mother is-.” Phryne shrugs, trying already to put the specifics of the many evening arguments with her parents out of her mind. “Convinced that this time will be different. Maybe it will be, I don’t know. But no, they were not scintillating company.”
“Ah,” Jack says, still, Phryne thinks, a little jealous and a little unsure of himself, though why, she can’t imagine. There is no one else she would share this ridiculous meal with and she knows it. He should too, by now.
But she won’t justify her choices, past or present, to him. If he wants her-and she knows he wants her-he has to want all of her, even if it means taking on faith that she won’t make choices that will break his heart. So, Phryne says as drily as she can muster, “Why do you think I was so eager to come home?”
Jack runs his fingers over his spoon and she sees him relax slightly, just a millimeter and the creep of that damned half-smile. When he meets her eyes again, his gaze is open and intense.
“The soup, I presume,” Jack says.
Phryne laughs harder than she has in months.
**
Phryne breezes into the sitting room early, catching Dot unawares. “Excellent soup, Dot,” Phryne says, startling her assistant.
“Yes, Mrs. Collins,” Jack says, as crisp as he can be in yesterday’s shirt and suit. “It really was delightful.”
Phryne will rejoice in the look on Dot’s face for a lifetime to come. She winks at her assistant, who says with surprising steadiness, “Thank you Miss, Inspector,” before turning fixedly to her mending.
Jack offers Phryne his arm and she takes it as they walk in for breakfast.
***
Universe: Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries
Pairing: Phryne Fisher / Jack Robinson, Dot Williams / Hugh Collins
For: chaila and pellucid, because this is their fault in some way or another.
Beta: I wrote this in an hour and a half for my two best betas. So all errors and poor turns of phrase are unequivocally my own.
Summary: Soup is useful for all sorts of benevolent purposes, including bribing in-laws, teaching feminism to young women in need, and courting policemen. Pretty much in that order.
Of note: http://www.recipes4us.co.uk/Beeton/Mrs%20Beeton%20Useful%20Soup%20for%20Benevolent%20Purposes.htm
**
Phryne comes home after tea with her aunt to find Dot in the kitchen. This is unusual in that Mr. Butler usually takes responsibility for the cooking, but also in that Dot is fiercely guarding her pot. “No, I do not want any help,” she says, brushing off an offering Mr. Butler. He backs off with a gentle shrug and a look to his mistress that suggests this has been going on for some time.
“Dot? What on Earth?” Phryne asks, trying to weave her way toward the range. It is not a place she finds herself often, but she can see that Dot has made more of a mess than Mr. Butler might have.
Dot shrugs. “It’s one of my mother’s recipes that could feed all of us,” she says. “And I thought, with everything, I might take it over to Mrs. Collins-Hugh’s mum-to see if-.” Dot trails off, waving her wooden spoon idly and trailing beef and broth around the kitchen.
“It’s a peace offering,” Mr. Butler says gently.
Dot and Hugh’s wedding had not been well received by the Collinses, Phryne understood, even if she hadn’t been home to witness most of the immediate fallout.
“I took her the curtains I made,” Dot says mournfully. “But it’s no use.”
Phryne peers down at her assistant and friend. “Well,” she says after a moment. “You can do one of two things.”
“What’s that, Miss?” Dot asks.
“First, you can keep on trying to get into that woman’s good graces. Curtains, soup-.”
“-grandchildren,” Mr. Butler chimes in and Phryne makes a face, even as Dot looks thoughtful.
“Or,” Phryne continues, putting aside the terrifying thought of Hugh and Dot’s probably not-too-future children. “Or, you can go about your life without needing her approval and live it just how you please.”
Dot furrows her brow. “But Miss,” she says. “It would mean so much to Hugh.”
Phryne rolls her eyes. “Hugh is the one who converted for you. Hugh is as much to blame in all of this as you are, if not more, and he can go groveling to his mother on his own time.”
Dot stirs thoughtfully.
**
Dinner is served. Mr. Butler approaches Phryne and Jack with steaming bowls of soup.
“I take it the entrée to the elder Mrs. Collins was unsuccessful?” Phryne asks, trying to hold in her mirth. She had related the story to Jack over drinks and they are tipsy and amused, though she hopes, not at Dot’s expense.
“She didn’t go,” Mr. Butler says. “She almost threw it in the rubbish. Says she would be her own woman from now on.”
“That would be a waste of perfectly good soup,” Jack intones, looking over the hot food in front of him.
“Quite,” Mr. Butler says. “You know, Dot says her mother called this Useful Soup for Benevolent Purposes.”
Phryne can’t help herself and laughs out loud.
“Apparently,” Mr. Butler continues as if not interrupted, “that was the name of the recipe.” He departs through the doors to the kitchen.
Jack tucks in heartily to the soup while Phryne muses. “Useful soup?” she says. “Benevolent purposes? I wonder what those might be.”
Phryne watches the corners of Jack’s mouth quirk up in a half smile. Since her return the previous week after three months away, Phryne has found herself enamored of his every expression, watching to see if he is smiling or thoughtful or looking at her with poorly-disguised want. She lets herself acknowledge that she has missed him, and that smile, and those looks.
And now he is here, in her house, at her table, eating Dot’s soup.
Phryne spoons her soup, finding ox, beef, and vegetables; heartier fare than appropriate in early fall and more than she wants.
Jack seems to have no such compunction and he eats heartily. “Did no one feed you while I was gone?” she asks lightly.
He wipes his mouth with his napkin, a little embarrassed. “Sandwiches at my desk, mostly,” Jack says. “No one to-.” He waves a hand over the table, encompassing the linen and the candlelight and herself.
The soup, Phryne thinks, is out of place in the finery of her dining room, or would be if anyone else was eating it.
“Well,” she says. “It is benevolent soup, then.”
“An act of kindness or charity?” Jack counters, setting his spoon down and meeting her gaze.
She looks at him, and if all the fondness she feels is reflected in her gaze, then there it is. “An act of kindness does not have to be charity,” Phryne says, leaning forward a bit. “In fact, one can even exhibit kindness out of selfish motives.”
“Is that so?” Jack says.
“It is,” Phryne says, sipping at her wine. “This is a perfect example. You get a hearty dinner, for which we can thank Dot’s burgeoning sense of self, and I get you here enjoying it.”
“No one to enjoy dinner with in London?” Jack’s question is obvious, Phryne thinks, but not unfair.
“Well,” she says, taking a bite of the soup, which is good, if somewhat reminiscent of her better childhood dinners. “You’ve met my father. And my mother is-.” Phryne shrugs, trying already to put the specifics of the many evening arguments with her parents out of her mind. “Convinced that this time will be different. Maybe it will be, I don’t know. But no, they were not scintillating company.”
“Ah,” Jack says, still, Phryne thinks, a little jealous and a little unsure of himself, though why, she can’t imagine. There is no one else she would share this ridiculous meal with and she knows it. He should too, by now.
But she won’t justify her choices, past or present, to him. If he wants her-and she knows he wants her-he has to want all of her, even if it means taking on faith that she won’t make choices that will break his heart. So, Phryne says as drily as she can muster, “Why do you think I was so eager to come home?”
Jack runs his fingers over his spoon and she sees him relax slightly, just a millimeter and the creep of that damned half-smile. When he meets her eyes again, his gaze is open and intense.
“The soup, I presume,” Jack says.
Phryne laughs harder than she has in months.
**
Phryne breezes into the sitting room early, catching Dot unawares. “Excellent soup, Dot,” Phryne says, startling her assistant.
“Yes, Mrs. Collins,” Jack says, as crisp as he can be in yesterday’s shirt and suit. “It really was delightful.”
Phryne will rejoice in the look on Dot’s face for a lifetime to come. She winks at her assistant, who says with surprising steadiness, “Thank you Miss, Inspector,” before turning fixedly to her mending.
Jack offers Phryne his arm and she takes it as they walk in for breakfast.
***